Monday, February 26, 2007

Pretty Lady must tell you that the vast majority of you Have No Clue. You Have No Clue about so many things, that she does not know where to start; thus she has not started at all, today, with the snow silently blanketing her windows. She has been involved with Other Projects.

But she promises to give you people the sound metaphysical thrashing that you deserve, just as soon as her thoughts crystallize out of the postmodern muck within which she is currently floundering.

The fact is, Pretty Lady is putting her soul up for sale, and the process is a brutal one. It is making her Cranky. She is putting her brain through the funnel of Artspeak in the hopes of obtaining a Whopping Big Grant, and lest any of you decry this as Evil, she will send YOU her credit card statement and ask you how it is to be dealt with. The answer to that question should definitely produce enlightenment, as there is no way, in this physical world, that a logical answer will be forthcoming.

Also, Pretty Lady freaks people out, when she works a day job. She seems to have an effect on them rather like that waitress at Rose Pistola, who was certainly getting her Ph.D. in nuclear physics during the day, and waitressing at night. Despite her ruthless efficiency, absolute reliability and relentless good cheer, Pretty Lady's presence in the world of Day Jobs has a way of making people namelessly uncomfortable. Eventually they find a nameless excuse not to hire her anymore; at this point, she is probably unemployable.

When I was young, I too had grand plans and great talent. I saw things no one else saw. I thought thoughts so new and special they could not even be adequately communicated, but still I tried upon occassion. I suffered for my art. I longed for understanding. I yearned to make my mark on the whole world. I knew I'd be discovered some day soon. My soul ached to find its true place. I knew with all my heart that I was special, unique, and not appreciated enough.

And I still have days like that.

But for the most part, I ended up living a real life. One without all the angst and passion I knew when I was younger.

I gradually realized:

That everyone is special in some way, even if not to my taste.

That staying alive and learning to survive requires some degree of compromise and flexibility in many ways.

That not every person who disagreed with me or had different values was wrong or stupid or sightless; they were just different and different is not always wrong.

That being a straving artist may sound romantic and noble, but in reality it really is a waste of time and quite painful.

That I was attracting pain to my life by not allowing myself to embrace and enjoy the normal things that give comfort to most people.

That every choice has consquences, but not every consequence is a life and death situation.

That constant roller coaster rides (in terms of finances, emotions, or life in general) are for the very young or the extremely suicidal.

That while doing things simply to make money was not very rewarding, neither was starving or declaring bankruptcy.

So, I went to law school (at age 31). And I now still do artistic things - just for fun & on the side.

I admire those who make their living doing art/theater etc. I just realized that it takes more then talent, perserverance and desire, to do that. It also takes a ton of good luck. Not all those who make a living in "the arts" are the most talented. Not by half.

I still have debts I'm slowly paying off (something needs to be done about the Grasshopper mentality encouraged by society...play and be merry today, for tomorrow may never come = a sure way to go into debt..for tommorrows keep coming pretty regularly!).

But I have made peace with being normal. I have learned to enjoy being content. And I am so old that I know, for sure, that I do not and cannot ever know everything.

I encourage you to follow your dreams. But don't get too addicted to the fumes off that bus you are following, and don't follow it as it drives off a cliff. Self-preservation should be your first order of business, in every day!

I wish you luck, love, financial stability, and most of all peace in your life!

From the Voxery: "It is not a real party until people are doing half-naked contact improv to Ministry, or the Pixies, and the floor is soaking wet with respectably clear fluids, and the tequila bottles are empty even of their worms. Period."

I gave up tequila for vodka after college. The people I ended up drinking with changed, and Russians believe it is rude, or perhaps even bad luck to not finish a bottle once opened. So that means that if it's just two of you left and three-quarters of a bottle of Русский Стандарт (Russian Standard)... You simply must drink it.

This led to more than one occasion of almost freezing to death while passed out in my car. Goddamn diesel glowplugs... Or the cold, greycloud mornings, with a hangover so bad that the cacaphony of the snow falling on the rusty fire escape outside the window sounds like panzerfaust fire in the pre-dawn gloom. Black spots swim in your vision, until the realization that the toilet you just puked in is not yours, and that you have absolutely no idea where the hell you are. Cold water and rough soap on your hands and face, and your t-shirt makes a poor towel. You cling to the wall for support as you edge down the cracked stucco hallway, looking for the room where you came from, because that room contains the best chance of finding your pants. Whereupon you spy your hostess, asleep beneath the covers, not nearly as beautiful as she was the night before, when she was bathed in the warm glow of kerosene lanterns and tumblers of vodka with cloves in them. Picking your pants up off of the floor, you shake out a cigarette from the rumpled pack and spark the gunmetal silver Zippo, warming your fingers over the wick as you light the morning's first smoke.

Yeah, I had to give up the parties and the glamorous life, for it certainly would have killed me, in the end.

Good God, I really have acquired another set of parents, plus one indefatigable would be fiancé. Although I suspect Starbuck would not continue proposing if he felt he had a genuine chance of being accepted. ;-)

Terrymum, I went to massage therapy school at age 30; once my practice reaches the word-of-mouth tipping point, I earn as much per hour as an entry-level lawyer. And I still have time to paint. So I'm not entirely a delusional flibbertigibbet.

Crom, this would never have happened to you if you'd stuck to tequila. Straight shots, not with ice or in a margarita, or god forbid those vile 'palomas.'

Not to boast or anything, but Pretty Lady has never puked from drinking, had a blackout, had sex with someone she shouldn't have (well, except for those entire relationships...) or otherwise let alcohol get too much the best of her. She has spent a few mornings sitting in sunbeams, staring into space, or huddled up under three comfortors, that is all.

But those days are mostly in the past, as well. It was just that ridiculous namby-pamby video that set her off. It is a terrible pity when people grow up and have babies without ever having partied properly.

prettylady said... Good God, I really have acquired another set of parents, plus one indefatigable would be fiancé. Although I suspect Starbuck would not continue proposing if he felt he had a genuine chance of being accepted. ;-)

In my defense, yes I would still propose if I knew you said yes.However, you would do well for yourself to never accept a proposal or even a date with me.I am the one your mother warned you about. I am evil scum and I deserve to be taken out to the public square and be put to a sudden death with a shotgun to the head. BLAMMM!

But I do hope that God is forgiving as he said he is. Otherwise I don't have a chance.

Oh, poor, poor BNP, Pretty Lady feels terrible. She succumbed to a moment of Pure Evil. She is very sorry, and hopes you will forgive her. Just be yourself, dear, and everything will be fine.

Starbuck, alas, your cunning attempt at Reverse Psychology comes Too Late. You are on to Pretty Lady, she has no doubt. You are making a Valiant Attempt. But alas, she sees through to the decency in your soul, and she calls your bluff. You are just pretending.

HA! Good girl! A back up career is nothing to be ashamed of or avoid. Even A. Renoir recognized that keeping body and soul together was a necessity to anyone who wanted to live to make art another day.

And I will accept the designation. One can never have too many children...or REAL parents.... One of the reasons for my name is that I do tend to be maternal...even when I was but a wee lass...Never played with dolls. Just have a knack for loving and nurturing.

I used to be able to out-drink any man alive, no matter his size. That was greatly upsetting to the boys who were trying so hard to take advantage. I have never passed out. I have only been sick a few rare exceptions, and mostly when I got older and my liver was not as good. And I do not regret anything done while intoxicated - because I knew what I was doing at the time, even if I ultimately decided not to keep doing it!

Liquor makes people MORE of what they are, so I become quite friendly, and horney, if I imbibe. Being now finally happily married, to a man 11 years my junior, I do not drink as much or as frequently. Despite having a home bar that is better stocked then many restaurants.

Finally, do not be deceived by men who say they are evil just so you think they are not. They are usually telling the truth. They just hope you will be taken in by their candor, just long enough to allow them a taste of your honey.

As far as that goes, I can't imagine grant applications are all that much different from the old patronage system. We've just changed from pleasing noblemen to grant comittees.Best wishes with the grant. I was looking at your artwork on your website and wishing I wasn't broke. Thank you for putting it online. Perhaps someday.

Keep in touch, darlings!

About Me

Darlings, where to start? Sometimes I feel as though I have lived a thousand lives in this one, dewy and unlined though my complexion may be. To Tell All may be to intimidate; thus I maintain, at most times, a discreet reserve. But here I share my musings, perhaps revealing the secret to my exquisite poise and charm.